Just a Little Dance
by Silverwing - The Black Cat
Summary: Hermione just wants to dance, but will Ron find the courage to ask her?
1. Left Out

_Author's Note: _Yay! My first fanfic! The first chapter in this story takes place before the Yule Ball, at some other school-dance type thing. Harry Potter and characters are not mine. Reviews appreciated!

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**Chapter 1**

**Left Out -**

Hermione sighed as she watched the swaying couples. She flung her chocolate-brown hair over her shoulder and rested her cheek glumly on her hand. Her honey coloured eyes burned with a fierce longing as she watched the dancers. Lavender was dancing cheek-to-cheek with Seamus nearby, and further on, Malfoy was snogging Parkinson in a way that would have made Hermione gag if she was not nearly green with envy.

Not that she had any wish to be in Pansy's place at that moment, but…

She glanced at Ron out of the corner of her eye, but looked away quickly. There was no way she would let him ruin her night. She could dance as well as any of them, and had fun doing it too. She would just have to sit out the slow ones, that was all. She sighed again and stood up.

"Butterbeer?" she asked her two friends in a flat voice. Harry and Ron glanced up.

"Hey, that'd be great!" Harry agreed. "Thanks 'Mione!" Ron didn't say anything, just nodded. She avoided his gaze and stalked away towards the concession table.

She didn't feel the eyes on her back as they followed her across the Hall. She didn't notice someone staring as she tossed her curled hair so it glittered in the candlelight. It was pinned on one side with a diamond clip that caught the light in a breathtaking way. She didn't observe someone gapping as her buttercup-yellow gown swept along the floor and swirled as she turned. She was unaware of the admiration in someone's eyes as she straightened her shoulders, bare except for a thin, semi-transparent, pale blue shawl, and returned with the drinks, the fabric of the dress clinging to her curves as she moved.

"Ron? Are you listening?" Ron felt a jab in his side and turned sheepishly.

"Sorry Harry, what did you say?" Harry rolled his eyes and repeated his question.

"I said I'm going to go dance with Malfoy's sister, okay?"

"Um, yeah, have fun."

"Ron!"

"What?"

"_Malfoy's_ sister."

"Uh-huh."

"Ron!"

"What?"

"Malfoy doesn't even have a sister."

"Oh."

Harry gave up with a shrug and walked away as Hermione slid into his place.

"Your drink," she said, slamming the bottle down in front of him in annoyance. He took it and drank deeply, grateful for something to do with his hands.

After a moment, he set the bottle down, opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, then closed it and lifted the bottle to his lips again. Hermione had turned his back on him and was once again watching the dancers with a wistful look on her face, fingering the diamond teardrop that hung from a delicate silver chain around her throat. Ron watched her hoop earrings dance in the faint light, and then turned away.

The music stopped and a livelier piece began to play. Hermione stood up, brushing imaginary dirt from her skirt.

"I'm going to dance," she said to no one in particular and, turning sharply on her heel, walked briskly into the crowd, leaving Ron alone with three bottles of Butterbeer, one empty, and two full.


	2. Slowdance

**Chapter 2**

**Slowdance -**

_I can't believe it, I just can't believe it_, she thought, a year later, as she beamed up into his face. She finally had her moment. She swayed gracefully to the slow love song, losing herself in the music. She leaned her head on his chest, enjoying the feeling of one strong hand around her waist and another tangled in her hair, and gave a sigh, not of loneliness, but of contentment. Sure, it wasn't exactly how she imagined it, but it never was, really.

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_Flash Back//_

_The day the Yule Ball was announced, Hermione's insides had been a turmoil of emotions. She would _not_ let herself expect him to ask her, she just wouldn't! She would not be heartbroken again! But nothing could stop her from wishing…just wishing…_

"Hermione, can I ask you something?" Ron had said that evening in the common room as he came up behind her and perched on the arm of her chair. Hermione's heart had done so many flips and cartwheels that it had taken her a moment to answer.

"_Y-yes?" she had breathed, her voice cracked with emotion_

"_Can I take a look at your notes for Binns' essay?" he had asked casually, unaware that Hermione's acrobatic heart had just sunk to her shoes._

_She had gritted her teeth as she dug through her bag and thrust the pieces of parchment at him. She had not brought herself to look at that disgusting git sitting so innocently beside her, with his gorgeous red hair framing his adorable face with his stunning blue eyes that she wanted nothing more to get lost in._

Part of her had been encouraged as she remembered he still had several more weeks to ask her before the Ball, but the other part has known that all her hope had fluttered out the window like a lonely owl.

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She closed her eyes as she danced, no, more like floated along the dance floor. Some were looking at her in admiration, at her pink, satin, low-cut dress, her tiny flower earrings that glittered in the soft light, and beautiful brown hair piled elegantly on her head and trailing over her shoulder. Others watched with envy and spite, but she didn't care. Nothing could ruin this moment. Except…

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_Flash Back//_

"_Hey, you are a girl!" Ron's words had driven through Hermione's heart harder then any bullet. And then to ask her to be his date not three seconds later! Though she had so desperately wanted to say yes, YES, it had given her great smugness to rub it in his face._

"_Sorry, I already have a date."_

_She had regretted it, though, when he wouldn't speak to her afterward._

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Her eyes fluttered open and she glanced over his shoulder. They widened in surprise and what she saw. Ron.

_That's right, stupid_, Hermione told herself. _You're dancing with Krum, not the man of your dreams._

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The bliss she had felt only seconds earlier at her first slowdance vanished to be substituted by an intense longing that was just as quickly replaced by a fierce anger. She would only ever be his best mate. Never anything else. She vowed then and there that she would never go to another school dance again. It hurt too much to see him standing there, not caring if she was nearby or in France. Never again. She would rather die.


	3. Hold Me Close

**Chapter 3**

**Hold Me Close -**

Hermione was in the bathroom a year later. She stared at herself in the mirror, trying not to hear the patter of footsteps and excited voices outside the door. She sighed, waiting for the noise to die down. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but otherwise, she was controlled.

It only took a few minutes for the noise to settle into silence. Everyone had drifted into the Great Hall, eager for a great night ahead. But Hermione had nothing to look forward to. She wasn't going; she wouldn't dance again.

Nevertheless, she had dressed up for it. She was wearing a drop-dead gorgeous gown of sky blue, with huge, billowing sleeves and a full train that swept out behind her. It was very low cut, with nothing but a silver chain around her neck, a needle hanging from it of the same precious metal. She wore matching earrings, thin silver needles that hung from her lobes. She was wearing makeup for the first time, and it fit her like a glove. Her hair this year hung loose over her back, with no ornament except for the small blue morning glory tucked behind her ear.

But it didn't matter. She wouldn't do it.

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Ron clenched his firsts and looked around. Harry slapped him on the back reassuringly.

"Don't worry, mate. She'll show," he said forcefully. Ron could only hope. After all those years, he had finally worked up the courage to ask Hermione to dance. But she wasn't anywhere to be seen. He sighed and slumped into his chair, ruffling his hair that Ginny had spent so long thoughtfully arranging. Sitting beside him, she looked over and shook her head.

"Don't fret, the night's still young."

Ron rolled his eyes and stood up.

"I'm going to the bathroom…"

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Hermione, hearing no more noise outside, stepped into the corridor. She saw Ron coming towards her and hastened to open the door again, but it was too late. He had seen her.

"'Mione!" he called out, picking up his pace. She hung her head and submitted herself to whatever was coming.

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked, perplexed.

"Why do you care?" she shot back.

He blinked. What had gotten into her? They usually couldn't drag her off the dance floor when it was time to go! He put his hand on her forehead.

"You sick or something?" he asked. Her skin tingled where he touched her, but she drew back.

"I just don't want to dance, okay?" she mumbled, turning and striding down the hall. She felt a grip on her arm and felt angry. "Just leave it, won't you?"

"No," Ron said firmly. "Something's wrong, I can tell. What is it?"

_You are a thick, stupid git that can't see past your own nose!_ She wanted to scream, but kept her mouth tightly closed and tried to pull away. He only held her tighter, drawing her closer to him.

All her senses were screaming. She glanced up angrily into his face, but as her eyes met his, she melted and forgot everything.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked softly. Numbly, Hermione nodded.

Still holding her firmly, he led her into the nearby Room of Requirement. Floating candles and the fire that crackled on the hearth were all that lit it. There was one comfy red couch in front of the fireplace, but otherwise, the floor was bare. A soft music played from some invisible source.

Ron turned to Hermione and let go of her arm. He bowed low and held out his hands.

"Care to dance, Miss Granger?" he asked formally. He tried to keep a straight face, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione fought back a laugh.

"But of course, Mr. Weasley," she said softly, stepping forward into his arms. Her heart leaped with joy as his hands closed around her waist and drew her closer. She closed her eyes and let herself go.

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The sun rose to find two figures cuddled innocently on a couch before a dying fire. A small black cat slipped into the Room as though she had been there thousands of times. She bounded onto the arm of the couch and stared at their sleeping forms a moment with her glowing green eyes. She seemed almost to nod, then leapt down and padded out just as softly.


End file.
